The Lost Years
by xElisabeth
Summary: Seventy-seven years separated the Battle of the Five Armies and the War of the Ring. Seventy-seven years in which the Dark Lord Sauron returned to his base in Mordor, in which the creature Gollum was caught and interrogated by Gandalf, and in which a most memorable Hobbit named Frodo Baggins was born. However, this is not their story. Bâhukhazâd bridge story.
1. Chapter 1 - Ethuil 2942 TA

**Author's Note: Hello all and welcome to this bridge story of _Bâhukhazâd_ and its sequel. I've long been planning to continue the story of Ardhoniel, but lacked the time such a venture would require. Concerning this story, I'm estimating it will be around six chapters, each of a varying length ****–** **although you may generally expect longer chapters than the present one. I will stick to an update rate of one chapter a week for this story, so you may expect regular updates.**

 **Now all that is left to say is that I hope you enjoy this chapter, and that I hope you will remember to let me know in a review what you think!**

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 ** _Ethuil,_ 2942 T. A.**

She had arrived back in Imladris on the second day of the new year. For six days, she faced the displeasure and disappointment of her father, as well as the complete and utter incomprehension of her brothers and sister, as she tried to settle back into the life that she had left behind on a summer morning half a year prior. After such a long time on the road and in the company of others, Ardhoniel had to reacquaint herself with the softness of a real bed, the peace and privacy of having her own room, and the luxury of daily baths and a fresh change of clothes.

'This is the third night that I find you here, rather than in your bed,' came the voice of Lord Elrond on the seventh morning. She pulled up in a sitting position on the stone bench that had served as her resting place that night, as her father passed into the private garden. His voice was warmer than it had been all week, and when she'd sat up, he took the empty place next to her. 'Will you not tell me what ails you, Ardhoniel?'

'I thought you were upset with me?'

'I am. But I see that you are troubled, and I care more for my daughter, than I care for reprimanding her. Tell me, why are you not in your room?'

'I enjoy watching the stars,' she said simply, and it was the truth – albeit not the whole truth. The whole truth was that she longed back to being on the road. To sleeping on roots, eating watery stew, and being so covered in dirt that she couldn't tell the tone of her own skin anymore. To falling asleep to the sound of snoring, or the comforting bickering between two loving family members. The whole truth was that ever since she had come back to Imladris, she had felt like a stranger in her own home. In her own life. She walked beneath the same trees and mountains that had been the silent observers of her childhood and much of her adult life, and yet couldn't produce even the smallest sensation of familiarity at being surrounded by them. She talked to the same people, performed the same duties, but didn't experience even a sliver of the enjoyment that she used to experience when doing so. The whole truth was that she watched the stars because it allowed her to pretend for even a moment that she was back with her friends. The whole truth was that she felt like a part of her heart was left halfway across Middle-Earth.

A tired sigh filled the silent garden, and Ardhoniel was partly surprised to find her father still seated next to her. Sometimes the ponderings of her own mind became so overwhelming that she forget about the life that happened outside of it. 'Your mother was like you. Fiery, free-spirited…. Some days I feared she would simply take wing and fly away from this place, out to see the world.'

'I am sorry. It was never my intention to hurt you,' she spoke remorsefully as they both looked out at the bushes and flowers that surrounded them. Despite spring only just dawning on the woods and grasslands of the Trollshaws, here in the valley of Imladris the flowers and plants were always in bloom. It was a safe haven untouched by time, when the world ever evolved and changed around it. For all of her life, that fact had made her feel safe – now, it was just another reminder of how separated she and her kin truly were from the world. In that sense, she supposed they were not much better than the Elvenking she had met on her travels.

Thinking of him brought her back to the Woodland realm and its dungeons, and words, so very similar to the ones that had passed her lips just then, that she had spoken to Thorin on a summer night many days ago. She had not meant to cause him or the Company harm. And despite the sentiment being genuine, she realised it did not matter. It did not matter what she had or hadn't intended. She had caused harm to befall the Company. And she had hurt her father. She opened her mouth, but found no words to express her regret with. Instead, she threw her arms around him, putting her own face against his chest like she had done many a time as a young Elfling. 'I love you, _ada_. And if it's any consolation,' she said, and as she pulled back her eyes were sorrowful even as she attempted a smile. 'I have had more than my share of adventures.'

'That is quite unfortunate, for your brothers informed me only just last night that they would like for you to join them on their next scouting mission.' A small smile pulled at his lips, and as it did, it was not difficult to see the likeliness with Elladan and Elrohir. Ardhoniel knew her father had had a brother once, a long time ago, but it was not something that they spoke of. She wondered if they had shared the same connection her brothers did – and how he managed the loss of someone he must have cared deeply about. 'I'm afraid they will feel quite disappointed at not getting a chance to interrogate you about your adventure.'

'Then I am sorry to disappoint them,' she acknowledged, and stood, 'As it is, however, I have little desire for venturing out again. Father,' she dipped her head in parting and turned on her heel.

'You are not the same Elleth that left home all these months ago,' Elrond observed calmly and she turned back to find him observing her with an unreadable expression, 'What changed?'

Everything. 'Nothing. It's just… Father, could I make a request?' When he inclined his head, she took a deep breath before bringing her gaze up to meet her father's eyes. 'I wish to discontinue my duties at the Guard.'

The Lord of Imladris raised one eyebrow at her in question, but she was not finished. 'I would like to recommence my studies as a Healer, if that is possible. Would you take me on as your apprentice?'

His grey eyes held hers for a long moment and she felt as if he could look straight into her soul. At last, his gaze softened, and she believed she recognised something akin to sympathy in his eyes. 'If that is what you truly want.'

'Thank you, _ada_.'

~ Ethuil = spring  
~ Ada = father _  
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	2. Chapter 2 - Laer 2947 TA

**Author's Note: Welcome back to the second chapter of this bridge story between Bâhukhazâd and its sequel (which I have yet to decide on a name for; so if you have any inspiration, do let me know!). I was truly surprised and honoured by all of you who immediately followed and/or favorited The Lost Years, thank you for the support! A special thanks to _mirasol . yellow_ (apologies for the weird spelling; it won't let me write your name without the spaces!) for leaving a review to last week's chapter. Enjoy this piece!**

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 ** _Laer,_ 2947 T. A.**

It was a summer morning like all the other ones had been lately – or perhaps it was already midday, judging from the way the sun was high in the sky and burning directly onto the bared skin of his neck. Ever since he turned thirteen last spring, Éadig had been helping his uncle Uldor out at the docks, loading and unloading boats, and giving its mortal boatmen directions to the town's inn. As for the immortal captains and crewmen, they usually preferred to simply sit on the metal bench in front of their home where they would be served wine and freshly baked bread by either his aunt Fasthild or Hulda. It was all the better to Éadig, though, for when they would return to their ships later on the day, they would not be quite so drunk and disagreeable to deal with. Moreover, it would give him the chance to study them in between the loading and unloading of goods.

There was something utterly fascinating to him about Elves, and when given the chance he would often strike up conversation with one of the immortal boatmen to learn more about their ways. Éadig wasn't sure whether he had always been interested in them, for his memories of his life before coming to live with his aunt and uncle were few and hazy. Some days he thought to remember fragments of a small town on the edge of a grand forest, on other days he believed them to simply be images conjured up by his overactive imagination. There were images of people too, older faces that he believed might have belonged to his grandparents, and then other, younger faces that shared traits with his own that might have belonged to his parents. Vague and faded as his memories of a previous life by the woods were, the intricate dagger that he kept hidden under the lumpy mattress of his bed was the only thing that convinced the young boy that he had truly been saved by a company of Elves at some point in his life. He had blurred memories of being inside some kind of small compartment, of being scared, and of tall, beautiful beings with fair skin, blond hair, and blue eyes that had taken him away on horseback and brought him to his aunt and uncle. Although most of his recollections were vague and shrouded in shadow, one scene stood out in his mind – if only because he had replayed it in his mind over and over every night as he waited for sleep to take him. It had been out on the docks, in fact only several feet away from the ship they were currently unloading, and the sun had not yet fully started its ascent into the skies. He remembered feeling overwhelming sadness, and clinging to a large pale hand as if his life had depended on it. At one point, the owner of the hand had lowered himself in front of the little boy of Men, sharp features arranged in a soft expression as the Elf had wiped away a stray tear from his cheek. Éadig couldn't remember where the male Elf had hailed from, nor even his name, but he did remember the promise that he had made to him. " _This was my first dagger, which I received after finishing my first weapons training, and is very dear to me. I expect you to take good care of it, as I shall be returning for it one day_ ".

And so he had. Each night before bed Éadig took out the weapon from under his mattress and unsheathed it. Some nights, he only looked at it, tracing the intricate designs that were etched into the blade with his finger, wondering at their meanings, before putting it back in its hiding spot. On other nights, he used a wet stone Uldor had given him to sharpen it, admiring the way the spotless metal shone in the light of the moon even after all the years of disuse. He had never used it, yet he imagined the dagger had been held in his hand as much as a blade would have been in the hands of a warrior.

Years went by, and the Elf, whatever his name had been, never returned for the weapon. Éadig still studied every Elf that passed into their town, still craned his head every time a stranger passed into the tavern they frequented sometimes after a long and exhausting day of work, but in his heart, the young boy of Men was beginning to lose hope. When he sharpened the dagger in the faint light of the moon, it was no longer out of a desire to keep it in pristine condition until its owner returned for it, but more out of a long-formed habit. He still studied the Elves that came and went with the boats, still looked up every time an unfamiliar individual passed into the tavern, but the actions had become automatic and involuntary – his body still waiting for something that his mind was starting to understand would never happen.

Today had been a day like many others, but would soon prove to be unlike any other day entirely. It started with the sound of hoofs clattering against the cobblestone street – in itself not a very interesting sound, and so common that Éadig only briefly looked up at the sound. He took in the midnight blue cape that shielded the newcomer's face, pale hands that held the reins loosely, concluded that it was most likely one of the Elves, and turned away. The last thing he saw from the corner of his eye before going back to work was the Elf getting off their tall horse.

When Uldor, usually loud and coarse, stalled in his movements and straightened up, Éadig quickly realised something was amiss. Even so, when he had turned to follow the older Man's gaze, he had not expected to come face to face with a decidedly female Elf. She was standing only a few foot away, her eyes trained on his uncle and a small crease between her blonde eyebrows.

From the colour of her cloak and great white horse that stood beside her, he quickly identified her as the newcomer. However, it was her face, now uncovered by the cloak, that made him nearly drop the goods he had been handling. Those high cheekbones, the high arch of her brows – those eyes. Once they shifted to him, the startling blue of her orbs seemed to look straight into his soul. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, captivated by her gaze and the memories that it stirred within him. When he regained some semblance of control over his mind, it was to note that she was staring at him too.

'Éadig…' His name sounded foreign as it fell from her lips in little more than a whisper. She took a step forward, then seemed to hesitate, and her eyes flickered back to his uncle.

'Go,' he could hear Uldor's voice from behind him, and strong, rough hands nudged him forward when he did not move initially.

In a way, he wasn't sure whether it was better. For a moment, they walked together in silence. He and this strange Elven lady that appeared to him like a memory from a dream. They finally sat down on the metal bench in front of the house, and as they did, something occurred to Éadig. She obviously knew him, but apart from the memories she awoke, he had no clue as to her identity.

'I feel like I'm at a disadvantage my lady, for you seem to know my name but I do not know yours.'

'My name?' She repeated, the words coloured by the same lilt that had accompanied her pronouncing his own name. He would have called her speech tainted by it, if her accent was not so soft and almost melodious to his ear. 'Bruihel.'

The name did not spark any recollections, did not even sound familiar at all to Éadig's ears. Despite years of learning not to hope for a clue about the mysterious Elf, he found he was disappointed nonetheless. Here was an Elvish lady who, despite being female, bore a strong resemblance to the Elf that had rescued him and had given him his dagger, and on top of that also seemed to be familiar with his name. And yet she was not him.

When their silence stretched on and she offered no explanation as to the reason of her appearance, Éadig gathered his courage. Although admittedly not the bravest of young lads, he was naturally curious and driven by years of wondering – and that seemed to make up for something. 'You… There was… I remember being brought to live with my aunt and uncle when I was a young boy by a company of Elves. One of them took me on his horse, told me stories, and when they left me here, he gave me his dagger.' He did not look up while he told her this, finding it easier to relay these memories to his intertwined hands than to the Elf seated beside him. At the same time, he started to feel rather foolish, knowing how unlikely it sounded even coming out of his own mouth. 'He told me to hold on to it, take good care of it because he would return for it. I promised I would and I did. Only he never returned.'

When he chanced a glance up at last, Éadig was surprised to find her gaze already trained on him, her blue eyes misted over by tears. He was not sure what to do with this show of emotions, and was about to offer her the dirtied handkerchief that he kept in his pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow during work, when she opened her mouth and offered him some insight at last. 'He was my brother.'

As soon as the words had registered and his mind could finally comprehend why she reminded him so of the mysterious Elf, he realised something else. Was. He _was_ her brother. Curiosity and propriety fought for control over his mouth, but in the end the outcome of the battle was of little consequence, for the lady spoke once again.

'After we left, there was a big battle, up north. Erebor.'

Although her speech was limited, he understood her well enough. What was more, news of the great battle at the gates of the Lonely Mountain had also reached their town only days after the battle. He had heard word of the Elves of Mirkwood joining ranks with the Dwarves of Erebor and the Men of Dale, but had never considered the possibility that his rescuer may also have entered in the battle. And not have come out. 'He… he perished?'

The female Elf, Bruihel, nodded simply.

Silence fell over them once more, and Éadig picked at the dirt beneath his nails as he pondered over this new information. All these years he had waited, hoped for the return of the mysterious Elf that had brought him here. And for what? Perhaps a part of him had hoped that when he would return, the Elf would take Éadig back with him to his Elven homeland. It was a boy's dream, he realised, nothing more. Certainly now that he knew he had waited for nothing. 'Why did you come?'

The female turned to him, eyes and facial features so much like those of her brother, yet a much softer expression reflected in them. When she spoke, her words were simple – whether because of a lack of vocabulary or simply because it was her way, he did not know. 'Because Aglaron would have wanted me to.'

'Aglaron…' The name passed his lips like a sigh, and it triggered a memory of the seconds just before he had received the intricate dagger. " _The Valar have a plan for all of us. They brought me to you, and now they tell me to go onwards._ " And so he had. Returning his thoughts to the Elf beside him, Éadig suddenly felt his heart go out to the female – his sister. 'Thank you for bringing me the news.'

Bruihel nodded once and then stood from the bench. When she turned to him once more, the sadness had left her face and was instead replaced by a small smile. 'You have grown into a fine young man Éadig, son of Éador. May the coming years be as kind to you as these past few.'

She started to make for her horse and, recognising it as the farewell that it was, Éadig quickly rushed after her. 'You are leaving?'

The question, much more desperate than he had intended, hung in the air between them as she checked her saddle pack. 'I should return to my people.'

'Can you not stay? At least for the night? No doubt your journey is far still and it is already past midday!'

'I do not mind sleeping beneath the stars,' Bruihel answered simply, whilst placing one foot in the stirrup.

'But what about the dagger?' He tried, anything to keep her – the last tie to his childhood dreams – from leaving. He felt an illogical terror gripping at his heart at the thought.

'Keep it. My brother wanted you to have it.' She seated herself in the fine saddle, pulling the hood of her cloak back over her head. 'Take good care of it – and yourself. _Namárië_ Éadig, _Éadorion_.'

'Wait!' He called, stepping in front of the tall horse to stall her departure a moment longer. 'Take me with you.' Even under her hood, he could clearly see the pale eyebrows that rose in silent question. Growing red, he found that although he did not regret the words that had passed his lips, he could not quite find ones to follow them. He sighed, 'I've waited my entire childhood for your brother to return for me. For him to take me away. For my life to become more than this,' he gestured around him. ' _Please._ '

Bruihel did not respond immediately, and when she did, her brows were furrowed and her lips pursed. 'How old are you?'

'Fourteen, miss.'

She seemed confused at this – and somewhere in the back of his mind, Éadig realised Men must not age the same as Elves did. 'Have you skill with a weapon?'

'I can learn.'

'You may not return to your family for many years…'

'I don't care.'

Her blue eyes observed him calmly, yet closely, and he once again felt like the Elf could look straight into his soul. He would never know whether it was anything she saw there, or sheer loneliness, that finally swayed her, but at last Bruihel relented. 'Know this: learning to wield a weapon takes hard work and dedication. The world has grown into a dangerous place and it will not spare you because of your inexperience.' He looked on with hopeful eyes at her speech, hoping beyond hope that it meant what he thought it did. She sighed, 'If your aunt and uncle agree, you may come.'

~ Laer = summer

~ Namárië Éadig, Éadorion = Farewell Éadig, son of Éador


	3. Chapter 3 - Iavas 2950 TA

**Author's Note: Welcome to the third installment of _The Lost Years_. While many of you have favourited/followed this story, you haven't been very vocal in your opinion of this story. Feel free to leave behind a review (or send me a PM) to let me know your thoughts about this story. With that being said, I hope you enjoy this chapter (and the appearance of someone who is very dear to many of us, I think!)! **

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**_Iavas_ , 2950 T. A.**

By the time that they finally arrived in front of the house with the green door and the brass knob, night had fallen and the horses, as well as their riders, were more than done travelling for the day. After tying the horses to the wooden fence that separated the smial's garden from the rolling grassy hills and providing the animals with water and oats, the visitors opened the small gate and walked the little stone pathway up to the round door. They were a curious pair, they were. An elderly man wearing grey robes and a matching pointy hat, and a fair-haired female, with sharp features and keen grey eyes. Even when their identities were unknown to most Hobbits, the Istar Mithrandir and Ardhoniel of Imladris received many a curious glance after they had crossed the borders of the Shire – and indeed, quite long before that, too.

Mithrandir had found her quietly reading a herblore book in one of the gardens – the one beneath the window of her father's study; the very same one that had started her adventure several years ago – on a late summer morning of that year. 'Your father tells me you have resumed your studies as his apprentice,' he spoken, by ways of greeting as he entered the small alcove she was seated in, his tone carefully neutral even as his bushy eyebrows rose in expectation – and Ardhoniel knew it was more a question than a statement. She had waited several seconds for him to continue, to question the reason for her sudden change of heart, to link it to the events of all those years ago, but he had remained silent.

Casting a quick glance at the Istar that had casually seated himself on the stone bench beside her, her suspicions had been confirmed. Like her, he'd been waiting. For her to explain her sudden change of heart. For her to link it back to the events of all those years ago. Instead, she had remained silent.

'I'm on my way to the Shire,' he'd divulged at last, clearly disgruntled at her silence, 'Where I'll be visiting a common friend who just so happens to be celebrating his 60th birthday in a moon and a half's time. You would not be interested in joining me?'

And so they had set out, not two days later, with fresh horses, enough provisions to see both mounts and riders comfortably through the journey – and a fancy dress tucked away deep into one of the Elleth's saddlebags.

As they stood waiting in front of the still-closed door and she allowed herself to take in her surroundings, Ardhoniel hardly believed she would have need for it. The lands that they had passed were beautiful in a simplistic sort of way: rolling grassy hills, tiny streams that lazily wound their way around the land, and quaint little brick houses or impressive tunnel systems hidden behind round doors and windows set in mounds of earth – the latter which were called "smials", Mithrandir had informed her. Despite being charmed by her new surroundings, she did not think that she would find a room for dancing anywhere in the vicinity, even in the luxurious dwelling that was Bag End.

A second of silence passed after Gandalf had knocked, then a familiar voice called from within, 'I'll be right there! Whoever would come calling around this hour; it's right time for supper…' The last of this speech was obviously directed to himself as he shuffled around inside, and it made Ardhoniel smile a little to herself. Apparently, some things would never change.

The door opened at last, and their host appeared. He was dressed in a thick, velvet chamber robe, feet stuffed deep into woollen slippers. His curly mop of hair was as unruly as she remembered, and even the youthful, round face beneath it had gone seemingly untouched by the hand of time. 'Gandalf! Ardhoniel? What are you… Oh, forgive my manners; do come in, come in!'

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After getting comfortably settled – or as comfortably as is ever possible when one constantly needs to mind their head in order not to bump it, cannot stretch out in a bed that is nearly two feet too small for them, and gets lost nearly every time one steps out of their bedroom – Gandalf disappeared on what he called "important business". As it was, Bilbo's birthday was not for a week and so Ardhoniel was left in the somewhat awkward position of entertaining herself while her host, equally uncomfortable, went about his daily business.

On the first three days, the Elleth stayed indoors; exploring the many rooms of the house, reading in the surprisingly extensive library, but most of all lost in thought. Though she had not been present at the time, many of the rooms of Bilbo's home had featured in one story or another told during her time on the road with the Company. Now, many years since the end of the Quest, Ardhoniel could still feel the remnants of those memories when she passed through the quiet chambers of the smial, ghosts of the actors still lingering in the dark shadows of the dwelling.

The fourth morning, she moved herself to the wooden bench in the front garden with a book on the history of the Shire, but found herself distracted as she gazed down the Hill at the Hobbits of Hobbiton as they peacefully went about their day. The harvest season was just drawing to a close, and many of the farmers were transporting large vegetables, ploughing their farms, or doing what farmers (and Hobbits) do best: complaining – all unaware of the curious Elf that was watching them from Mr. Bilbo's front garden. If they would have seen, many would have hardly been surprised at her presence, Bilbo later told her wryly when he joined her on the bench in the afternoon when he'd returned from his business.

'I used to be considered a very respectable Hobbit around these parts. Ever since that little adventure with the Dwarves, not a single Hobbit lass dares to spare me a second glance – none of the respectable ones at least.'

Ardhoniel laughed at that, and the peeved look on his face, 'The last time I saw you, I seem to recall you saying you were a confirmed bachelor.'

'Oh I still am,' Bilbo assured her, 'That does not mean I do not notice my marked decrease in popularity.' He sighed as he got out his pipe from the inside of his forest green vest. 'What about you? Any of Elves in Rivendell caught your attention?' He was in the middle of stuffing his pipe when his hands ceased their movement, and he looked to the side to find that the Elven lady beside him had also gone rigid. 'I'm sorry, Ardhoniel. I didn't… Obviously, I…'

Uncomfortable silence fell over them, and the pipe lay untouched in Bilbo's lap as both companions looked out over the quieting village at the feet of the hill. Most of the Hobbits had already gone inside, ready to enjoy their dinner before spending the remainder of the evening in their armchair – blissfully unaware of the world that existed outside of the borders of their calm and quiet lives.

'It is all right,' Ardhoniel said at last, her voice even and her face expressionless. 'We were not… It was never… It was never to be.'

A moment passed in which neither spoke, both engrossed in their own memories. Then, Bilbo softly touched his hand to the Elleth's slender one. When she looked up, he found her eyes were glazed over with unshed tears, and he offered her what he hoped to be a comforting smile – quite like she had done for him so many times during the Quest. 'I cannot pretend to know how you feel, but I like to believe that I knew Thorin, at least a little bit. He gave his life for those he cared about. He died so that others may live. He would not have wanted us to throw away that sacrifice.'

It was at this moment that a familiar figure appeared around the bend, and the moment shared between the Hobbit and Elf came to an abrupt end. Neither truthfully lamented this fact, for the topic of conversation had been difficult on both of them. However, it was only when Mithrandir stepped aside, revealing another surprise birthday visitor, that the heavy conversation was really left behind them. And left there for good.

An hour later they were all crowded in the kitchen. Bilbo fretting over the meal he was putting on the table, Gandalf and Ardhoniel uncomfortably stooped under the low ceiling – by now so used to this seating arrangement that they hardly noticed anymore – and their surprise visitor, who had been relieved of his blue cloak and pack as soon as Bilbo had spotted him, seated in the honorary seat at the head of the table. Surprise visitor to Bilbo and Ardhoniel at least, for judging by the amused turn of his mouth and the mischievous twinkle in his eye, it appeared Gandalf had known of their guest's plans of visiting all along.

'I just happened to run into Master Balin as I was making my way from Michel's Delving this afternoon,' the Istar huffed when Bilbo voiced exactly that suspicion. 'Quite fortunate, too, if I daresay myself. I recall some of the Company having quite some trouble locating Mr. Baggins' home last time you came visiting.' There was the twinkle again, and he quickly took a drink from his cup of wine to hide the smile that was pulling at his lips.

'Aye, that is true. Although I do think I should remind you that last time I arrived perfectly on time – which cannot be said for all here present, if _I_ remember correctly.'

'Really now? I don't seem to recall that. Then again, it has been quite a while. It has been what? Nine years?'

'Eight years and ten months since the Battle,' Ardhoniel spoke automatically, the words hardly registering until she had uttered them. Hearing them out loud, it was as if she only now realised how much time had passed. And yet much less than what it had felt like. She forced a smile on her lips, pushing through the pregnant silence that had hung in the room following her words, 'So how have you been, Lord Balin? Has life in Erebor treated you kindly these past years?'

'It has, although I must say I have spent more time away from the Mountain than I would care for.'

'Balin is chief advisor to the King,' Gandalf explained briefly, before either Bilbo or Ardhoniel could ask, 'As such, he takes care of much of the foreign affairs for him.'

Balin nodded, 'There's much work to be done now that Erebor is being restored to its former glory. Dwarves from all over Middle-Earth are flocking back to Mountain, and there's always one thing or another that requires the King's attention. And with Kíli…' The old Dwarf stopped there, shaking his head, before he restarted, 'King Fíli is quite needed inside the Lonely Mountain. And this particular trip to Ered Luin I did not mind so much making, for it allowed me to come visit an old friend.'

Bilbo took that moment to announce dinner was ready and as he started plating up the meal of mashed potatoes, peas, and chicken, Ardhoniel leaned in to the white-haired Dwarf, her tone too low for either the Hobbit or Istar to overhear. 'Is something wrong with Kíli?'

'It is nothing, lass,' he assured her, but his expression was troubled and his words hollow, 'Nothing for you to worry about.'

~ Iavas = autumn


	4. Chapter 4 - Echuir 2956 TA

**Author's Note: Welcome back to this week's installment of _The Lost Years_. I want to thank ColdOnePaul for their review and just wish to say that that is definitely part of it - although I do hope you'll find you have more insight into this after reading this chapter! Now, I hope you all enjoy this chapter (if so, let me know! :) ).**

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 ** _Echuir_ , 2956 T. A.**

Thorin III was born on Durin's Day in the year of 2956 of the Third Age, marking the fifteenth anniversary of the awakening of Smaug and the reclaiming of Erebor. Of course, the date itself was meaningless to the young boy that had recently been brought into this world, as was it, at least for the time, to his mother who, despite her exhaustion, held her son with all the fierce pride and protectiveness that befit a Dwarrowdam.

While both mother and son were unaware of any harm done, the young father and King seemed all the more aware of it. Even as he lovingly took in the babe's chubby cheeks, blue eyes, and dark mane, there was a heaviness to his heart that he could not shake. Despite the many years that had passed since the day they had reclaimed the Mountain, despite his growth in his role as King Under the Mountain, as a husband, and now as a father, there was a part of him that still missed his Uncle dearly. This moment, and meeting his own son who bore all the physical traits of a real Durin, only brought in sharper relief the hole that had been left in their family by the Dwarf he had once considered his own father. Even though many years had passed since that day, it seemed the wound had yet to heal. And knowing his own heart, Fíli hardly needed to turn around to see the cold in his brother's eyes, before the Dwarf excused himself and left the room. The lady Dís exchanged one apologetic look with her elder son before she sighed and, too, left in a hurry. When Fíli took the tiny baby boy into his arms, he allowed his eyes to drift close, pretending that the tears that prickled his eyes were attributable only to the happiness of the moment.

* * *

The She-Elf arrived at Erebor at the first melting of the snow. She was given one of the more luxurious guest rooms in the same wing that housed the royal family, was given an extensive tour around the Mountain by several of the Dwarves that had been part of the Company that had helped reclaiming Erebor, and was invited for a private dinner with the King and his family every day during her stay in the Mountain. All in all, she received more courtesy than any Elf had been shown by Durin's Folk what might have ever since the old days.

Seated almost directly across from her at dinner, Dís finally had the opportunity to inconspicuously examine the female she had heard so much about. Quite unwillingly, on their first acquaintance her eye, quite like that of every other Dwarf in the Mountain she would imagine, had been drawn to the solitary braid that lay at the base of her skull, held together by a delicate bead of the purest mithril. It was most likely that the Elf did not know the true value, nor the significance of the gift that had been bestowed upon her all those years ago, and it was just as well, Dís had thought. Now, with her hair pulled back in the intricate weave in her hair in the fashion of her own people, Dís concluded wryly there was little beauty to be found on her person. Although fair like all of the Eldar, her lips were thin, her cheekbones sharp, and there was a sternness to her grey eyes that belied her youthful appearance. The only decoration on her person was a silver, oval-shaped pendant that hung from her neck, and somehow it struck Dís more as something of sentimental value than jewellery. As it was, it was only when she smiled, which she did seldomly the King's mother noted, that Dís could see a glimpse of beauty in an otherwise plain face.

Even disregarding her looks, Dís found little else to be liked about the She-Elf. She was respectful in manner and polite in conversation, but there was a coldness to her countenance that she found a little too familiar for her own comfort. Everything in her countenance spoke of eyes that had seen too much and a soul that, no matter how many years would pass, would never completely heal. Once again Dís had to remind herself that this woman, Elf or not, agreeable or not, was part of the reason her sons were still alive.

'How are you enjoying Erebor, lady Ardhoniel?' She ventured to ask, the first time she had directly addressed the female since her arrival that morning. If she was at all surprised by the question, the She-Elf did not show it. Instead, she slowly put down her fork, chewing delicately as her eyebrows were drawn in thought.

'Erebor is very beautiful, my lady,' she said at last, those cold grey eyes turned on Dís – and the Dwarven lady felt severely at unease under that solemn gaze, though she attempted to hide such sentiments. 'You must be very proud of all that your sons have achieved in so short a time.'

'Indeed. The Mountain was but a shadow of its former self when I returned after the Battle. I believe you have had the chance to see it too after the dragon was slain, did you not?'

The change in atmosphere was immediate. The female in front of her froze in her seat, the hand holding her fork gone white around the knuckles. To her side, Dís noticed Kíli had lifted his head for the first time since dinner, and was now tensely watching the exchange. At the head of the table, Fíli too had stopped eating, and his gaze shifted from the Elf, to his mother, then back to the Elf.

'Let us talk of the past no more, mother,' he suggested at last in what seemed like a nonchalant manner, though there was a urgency in his voice that Dís knew too well – and had used herself all too often in the past years. 'Tell me, Ardhoniel, is the room you've been given to your liking?'

As conversation drifted to other, simpler topics and the strain soon disappeared from the room, Dís found herself thinking about the curious Elf seated across from her – and found the longer she spent in her company, the fewer she understood about her.

* * *

The creak of a door, then the soft patter of unbooted feet on the smooth stone of the corridor outside of Lady Dís' room. It was close to midnight, the private dinner had ended hours ago, but Dís was hardly surprised at hearing movement at this time of night.

With a weary sigh, the King's mother pushed away the down sheet and grabbed the chamber robe that already hung nearby before she exited her rooms. The hallway outside her chambers was unheated, and she felt the winter's cold seep into her naked feet. Fortunately, she knew her travel across the chilled stone would not be long, for she knew exactly where to find her youngest son.

Years had passed since the reclaiming of Erebor, but her Kíli had never quite become himself again. As a child, she remembered cursing the boy many a time for his rashness. He had been easily excitable, playful, and more than a little foolish at times. Even at the time of the Quest, she had feared that his utter lack of responsibility would be his undoing.

When she looked at him now, she could hardly recognise him. He did not smile anymore, did not speak unless spoken to, and even when engaged in conversation there was little reaction to be gotten from him. Although she would never admit to it out loud, she felt like she had lost her son after all that day on the battlefield.

When she arrived in the gardens, Dís was unsurprised to find them empty at first glance. Kíli had always been good at hiding – and seemingly had only become better at it now that he had little desire to be found. She was surprised, however, when the tranquil trickle of water and the soft chorus of crickets was disturbed by the sound of voices.

'I couldn't sleep either,' one of them, female and too melodious to even be mistaken for that of a Dwarf, admitted. 'Do you come here often?'

Having come there with the intention to coax her son back to his rooms, Dís now found herself rooted to her spot. And listening in on the ensuing conversation.

'Sometimes. When I can't sleep. The nightmares are bearable, but…'

There was a silence then, and Dís was about to make her appearance when the She-Elf spoke. 'You find yourself questioning whether you should have acted differently? Whether you could have changed things… could have saved them.' She fell silent, the pain-filled words still hanging in the air around them. Even for Dís, from the Elf's words it was clear that she did not just emphasize with Kíli's pain – she shared it.

Dís did not know what transpired then inaudibly, but when she spoke again, the She-Elf's voice was stronger. 'A wise person once told me that those we love died so that others may live… so that we may live. We should not let their sacrifice go to waste.'

'Does that make the pain go away?'

'No. No, it doesn't. It simply means we have to go on, regardless of the pain.'

Silence returned to the gardens, the peaceful trickle of water washing away the heavy conversation that had just transpired. 'I am going back to bed, are you coming?'

'I think I'll stay here for a moment longer, if that is all right.'

Kíli must have given his answer non-verbally, for soon Dís heard the sound of footsteps, and seconds later her son passed by her hiding spot. The click of the door signalled her that her son had returned to bed, and she realised she should probably do the same. However, instead she found her feet moving her in the direction of the heart of the gardens. 'Did you mean what you said to him?'

She found the She-Elf seated on a stone bench near the trunk of a large oak. She was dressed in naught but a pale nightdress, and her skin seemed to emit a soft glow in the light of the moon that filtered in from overhead. Her arched eyebrows were slightly raised in surprise, expression unguarded, her answer painfully honest. 'I did. Although I'm afraid that does not mean I am quite ready to do it myself.'

Dís did not know what to say to that. It was the first time the Elf had openly admitted to her grief and Dís found that, despite their multitude of differences, she could sympathize with her. When her husband died, the only thing keeping her going had been her two sons. If she had not had them, she would not know what she would have done. The pain had lessened over the years, enough for it to become a dull ache in her heart during most days, but it had never healed. Once more her eye fell on the braid that was draped over the Elf's shoulder, and she felt her own throat constrict at the innocent reminder of the brother she had lost that day. 'This used to be our favourite spot, Frerin, Thorin, and mine. We used to come here often when we wanted to escape. It seems Kíli has inherited that tendency.'

The ghost of a smile graced the female's lips for a short moment, before it faded and in its place returned the solemn expression. 'How do you do it… live with it?'

Sitting down on the bench beside her, Dís heaved a deep sigh. 'I suppose you just do. Because you have to. Because there is no other way but forward. You bear the pain until one day it starts hurting less.'

'It never really goes away, does it?'

'No. But I find at least the pain reminds me of them; that I loved, and that I was loved.'

The She-Elf did not respond to that, and Dís found herself content to share in the silence as she pondered the curious female beside her. And found that, at last, she felt like she understood the Elf that meant so much to her sons.

It was at last the She-Elf who broke the silence. 'I must be getting back to bed. It's getting late and I did promise Bofur to let him take me on a tour around the mines in the morrow. Good night, Lady Dís.' She rose gracefully from the bench, pale feet peeking out from underneath the hem of her nightdress as she retraced her steps to the exit.

'You have done honourably by my sons,' Dís said, just as the she put her hand on the doorknob. 'And you have done honourably by my brother. You will always have a home here in Erebor if you wish it.'

She turned her head back to Dís once more, an expression on her face that the Dwarven lady could not read but found she understood quite the same. Though their backgrounds and cultures differed, Dís found in that moment they understood each other perfectly. And she knew Ardhoniel would not stay.

~ Echuir = stirring


	5. Chapter 5 - Firith 2980 TA

**Author's Note: Welcome back all to the second-to-last chapter of this bridge story. With the end coming up, it is time I start thinking about a name for the sequel story. _The Lost Years_ is really a story about stagnation, about how you can get stuck in your grief even as the world around you keeps revolving. In this sense, Ardhoniel is also a very passive character - which I can imagine may come across as very annoying. The sequel then, will be about picking up the threads of her old life, but also of starting anew. If you have any ideas for a fitting title, your help is much appreciated! Now without further ado, enjoy!**

* * *

 ** _Firith_ , 2980 T. A.**

Ardhoniel returned to Imladris on the last days of _laer_ – and had left it again by _rhîw_ of the same year. Despite her resolve to at least try and move on, she found she could not earth again in her childhood home. It seemed the longer she dwelt in the peaceful haven, the more she was reminded of how much she did not belong in that place, in that life, anymore.

To give her father some peace of mind, and herself something to do, she resolved to spent some time with her kin in Lothlórien and continue her training in Healing there. As much as he disliked the idea of relinquishing her again so soon after she had returned, even Lord Elrond could not deny that studying under another teacher may do her some good in progressing her knowledge – and secretly hoped that the change of scenery may provide the opportunity for her own wounds to heal.

As much as Ardhoniel had looked forward to reacquainting with her friends, a part of her dreaded the moment all the same. Like so much else, things had changed between them, had become more complicated, and her affection for them was now mingled with sorrow and guilt. When she arrived at Caras Galadhon, however, she quickly found out she had worried needlessly about the reunion. She learned Bruihel had left Lothlórien nearly thirty years ago and had only returned to the forest a number of times, accompanied by a young Man. An image of a young boy with blond hair and green eyes, clinging to a sheeted dagger and a broken promise had flashed through her mind at hearing the news, and she could only hope that the two, wherever they were, had found peace in one another.

News about her other friend she received on her first day in the Houses of Healing, from Healer Saeleth of all people. When she had acquired after the whereabouts of Neneth, the older Elleth had stopped dead in her moments, slowly putting down the bandages she had been folding, before she had turned to Ardhoniel. When she did, her expression was uncharacteristically solemn, and there was a look of pity in her eyes that Ardhoniel did not understand. Not yet at least.  
'She sailed,' she had said at last, and pursed her lips as she gazed upon the sadness that overcame her new charge. 'I think she already knew when she returned to the Forest. She performed her duties, but it was not the same. She finished her chores, took care of any unfinished business, and then went up to the Lord and Lady to state her decision. The morning of her departure, she came here to bring back some of the garments, as well as to say goodbye.'

She had to sit down after hearing the news. Though devastating, Ardhoniel knew she should not have been surprised. Elves only loved once, and if they lost their One, many of them chose to sail across the sea before they wasted away from grief. That knowledge did little to ease the pain, however, and all she could do was pray to the Valar that at least Neneth and Aglaron would find each other in Valinor.

Many years had passed since those early days, and for all intents and purposes, Ardhoniel had lived a quiet life ever since. Most days she spent in the Houses of Healing, seeing to the minor injuries of the guards or studying the many different herbs and their medicinal properties. As Healer Saeleth's pupil, she was also in charge of keeping the Houses supplied, a task which sometimes required her to venture further from Caras Galadhon. But never out of the woods – and never again into contact with anyone but the Elves of Lothlórien.

And although not happy, the Elleth found herself content for the first in many years. The wound in her chest, though not healed, had scabbed over, no longer at the risk of rupturing at a careless word or thought. The pain that had accompanied her every thought of the Dwarves of Erebor had eased to a dull ache, and in the safe confines of the woods of Lothlórien, it was easy to pretend it had all been a dream.

* * *

The illusion ended in _laer_ almost twenty-five years since she had arrived in Lothlórien with the arrival of her elder sister. Like herself, Arwen had always had been of the habit of visiting their mother's home every so often. However, unlike herself, Arwen had forced herself to keep up the tradition even after the passing of Celebrían.

Ardhoniel had not immediately been aware of her sister's presence in the city. Outside of her days at the Houses of Healing, she preferred to keep mostly to herself. On some days, she would simply wander about the woods, listening to the natural melody of the forest. On others, she would take out one of her study books to a small grove just outside of the city, where she would sit and read undisturbedly for a number of hours. Such was the case on the day of Arwen's arrival, and so engrossed had she been in her studies that she was quite surprised that when evening fell, a lithe figure appeared at the entrance of grove.

'Lady Galadriel already suggested I might find you here,' Arwen said, a smile playing on her full lips.

'Arwen,' Ardhoniel breathed in surprise, scrambling to her feet to wrap her older sister in a tight hug. 'It is good to see you. I have missed you.'

'And I have missed you, _muinthel-nin_. Our home has felt empty without your presence.'

The genuine emotion behind them, perhaps more than the words themselves, were what gave her pause. She had always known somewhere in the back of her mind that her family had not gone unaffected by her absence from their home, but had selfishly resolved not to think about it. Now that Arwen was here, however, it was more difficult to deny the pain she had undoubtedly caused them. Not knowing what to say in response, she chose that moment to pick up the book she had carelessly discarded in her haste to greet her sister. Dusting it off, she tucked it under her arm as she said, in an attempt at jesting, 'Then I am sure it must be barren now that both of us are absent. Whatever shall _ada_ do?'

'Request that I return before next year's _echuir_. And ask me to request you join me.'

There is was. The question she knew had been coming – and had been dreading. Even though she had missed her family dearly and – if she was honest to herself – knew they must miss her too, she found it mattered little in the grand scheme of things. 'I cannot, Arwen. I… I have so much still to learn from Healer Saeleth.'

Silence followed her excuse, and when Ardhoniel chanced a glance at her sister's face, she found the Elleth had pursed her full lips, a small frown appearing between her delicate eyebrows. At last, she sighed, 'Are you happy here, _muinthel-nin_?'

'I am… content. Which is better than I ever thought I would be able to feel again.'

Arwen's grey eyes met hers, searching them for something unknown to Ardhoniel, then at last she nodded. 'I will tell father you need more time.' She turned, starting to make her way back to the city, and Ardhoniel hurried to fall into step next to her.

'Is that the reason why you have come here?'

Arwen looked ill at ease for a moment, and then she stopped fully in her tracks and pulled her younger sister to a stop with her. With her elegant hand wrapped around the latter's underarm, she forced Ardhoniel to meet her eyes. 'Lord Aragorn and I are betrothed.'

'To be married? And _ada_ consented to this?'

'I haven't told him yet. But I will on my return. I wanted you to be the first to know.'

Silence followed her sister's heartfelt words, as Ardhoniel thought back on the first time she had met Aragorn, son of Arathorn. He had been but a child when he came to them, sweet and innocent, and unaware of the great burden that he would have to carry all too soon. Over the years, she had watched him grow into a headstrong but sensible young Man. Even as a youth, he had been of lean but strong build, with long limbs that rivalled many of the Elves of Imladris. His countenance had always been stern and grim and, infatuated with life and joy as she was, Ardhoniel had to admit that she had always found him rather dull. He was a handsome Man, to be sure, with a long, straight nose, a strong jaw, and a pair of keen and intelligent eyes. There was something undeniably regal about him even if one was ignorant of his bloodline.

Unfortunately, being connected so intimately to him as her sister now was, it was impossible to ignore his bloodline – and the implications behind it. If the Kingdom was ever restored, he would have to accept all rights and obligations that were attached to it. He and his queen would live in the public eye, would be involved in politics and diplomacy and whatever else was involved in the ruling a Kingdom, and would have to face the ever-present prejudice against his Elven wife. And then in the end, no matter what hurdles they would overcome, he would still be mortal and she Elfkind. And when he would die, she would be left to grieve for him across the passing ages of the world. Ardhoniel's heart ached from the inescapable end to whatever life they could ever have together. Quite unbiddenly, a similar vision flashed in front of her mind's eye – and she felt tears gather in the corner of her eyes as she allowed herself to dwell, for one bittersweet moment, on a life that would never be.

'Ardhoniel?'

She hummed. Ever since the unbidden thought had entered her mind, it seemed to have taken root, the mental image it presented as if burned on her retina.

Her sister glanced over at her, a worried look etched on her beautiful face. 'There is something else, but… Are you truly all right _muinthel-nin_?'

'Congratulations,' Ardhoniel said at last, the word leaving a stale taste in her mouth, 'I wish health and happiness on the both of you.'

The had come to a stop once more, this time at the gates of Caras Galadhon. There was worry in her sister's eyes, but what truly frightened Ardhoniel was the unconditional love and acceptation that she found there – and that reminded her so much of their late mother. 'If there is anything, please…'

'I am quite well, I assure you. _Goheno nin_ , I must return this book to the Houses, Healer Saeleth shall be needing it in the morrow. My well wishes once again to the both of you. Good evening, Arwen.' And with those words, she had left her sister. The topic of the betrothal was not mentioned again for the remainder of Arwen's stay in Lothlórien, yet Ardhoniel could not shake the feeling that something had been set into motion.

* * *

If she had thought that to be the end of all the excitement, Ardhoniel was to be gravely proven wrong. Not two months after Arwen's departure and her own return to her previous quiet and peaceful life, another familiar face arrived in Lothlórien. When she strode into the Houses of Healing that morning in late spring, there was a weary set to her shoulders, and when she dropped herself on an empty bed near Ardhoniel, it was not difficult to see the Elleth was not her usual bubbly self. The reason for it, Ardhoniel already had an inkling of when she noted that Bruihel was but alone.

'I had no idea you had returned to Lothlórien, my friend,' Bruihel said at last. 'I was told on my arrival yesterday evening that Lord Elrond's youngest daughter had come to live in the city – and that I might find her with her hands deep in… eh… what exactly are you doing?'

Looking down at her latest chore, Ardhoniel scrunched up her nose as the strong smell burned the insides of it. 'It's a herb used to stem the bleeding of wounds; I've been cutting it up and creating pastes of it for the better part of this week, but I'm afraid I have yet to get used to the smell even after all this time. I have classified it as a mixture of rotting fish and animal droppings.'

'Pleasant,' Bruihel remarked, but the jab missed its usual bite. Then, after a short silence, she remarked earnestly, 'I hadn't expected to find you here, _mellon-nin_ – not in the city or in the Houses of Healing.'

There was no suspicion, no accusation – and above all no pity – in her words, and for once Ardhoniel found she could speak freely. 'I needed a change, after…'

The sentence did not need to be completed for both friends to understand. In the wake of their journey, it had been impossible for both of them to continue on the same as before.

'Neneth left for the Undying Lands,' Ardhoniel stated at last, breaking the silence as she continued soaking the herbs in the bowl.

'I know. She came to inform me of her decision the evening before she left. I cannot say I blame her.' Bruihel stared out at the city for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. 'After she left, I resolved to find Éadig… the boy we saved all those years ago, do you remember?' At her friend's nod, a nostalgic smile overcame her. 'I tried to leave after giving him the news about… about Aglaron, but he refused to let me leave without him, hard-headed fool. We travelled most of Rhovanion we did; from the Iron Hills to the north-east all the way to the borders of Gondor.'

When she did not continue, Ardhoniel looked up, trying to formulate the question on her mind in as careful a way as she could. 'Where is he now?'

'He met a girl when we passed through Rohan and they settled in Walstow in the Sutcrofts. I stayed with him and his wife, Sefa, for a while, helped around the house, taught weaponry to their son and daughters, but now that even they were fully grown I could no longer deny even to myself that they did not need me anymore. And so I left.'

A hand, wrinkly from being immersed in water for so long, encompassed Bruihel's battle-hardened ones, and gave it a soft squeeze in comfort. Although no words were exchanged between them, no words were needed to convey the bond between them. No matter the pain and grief they carried, they did not have to carry it alone.

~ Firith = Fading  
~ Laer = Summer  
~ Rhîw = Winter  
~ Muinthel-nin = My sister  
~ Echuir = Stirring  
~ Ada = Father  
~ Goheno nin = I'm sorry  
~ Mellon-nin = My friend


	6. Chapter 6 - Echuir 3018 TA

**Author's Note: Welcome back, dear readers, to what is already the final chapter of this bridge story. I'm afraid it's gotten a little depressing** **–** **much like this entire story, to be honest. So sorry! Now, about the sequel: it is in the making and I have, in fact, already written some chapters. However, I will need to see when I can work out a good title + summary. You may expect the first chapter to be up within two weeks, however. With that said, enjoy this last chapter (and don't forget to tell me what you think!).**

* * *

 ** _Echuir_ , 3018 T.A.**

Mithrandir came to the forest on a mid-summer day in the year of 3001 of the Third Age. Much like the last time he came to invite her on a journey, he found Ardhoniel seated on a stone bench reading a book and much like then, she was not aware of his presence until he announced himself from over her shoulder.

'Mithrandir!' She had cried, snapping the book shut as she turned to face the Maia. Like herself, he had seemed to be untouched by the hands of time – although, unlike herself, this might have only been the case because she could not imagine him looking any older than he had already done. Putting a hand on her rapidly beating heart, she'd frowned, 'For one with as much wisdom as yourself, you still seem to be quite unknowledgeable of social custom – such as announcing yourself _before_ you encroach upon someone's private space.'

'Or I simply choose to ignore them,' he'd replied in turn, and there seemed to be an amused set to his mouth behind his bushy beard. 'I did not come here to discuss social norms with you, however. As it is, I'm headed for the Shire, to attend a very special birthday party of a certain Bilbo Baggins.'

'Bilbo?' Her brows drawn, she had recounted the last time she had seen the dear Hobbit – and the many years that had passed since. 'He's still…? Why, he must be over a hundred by now!'

'Hundred-and-eleven to be precise – or at least he will be, coming fall. Quite an extraordinary age for a Hobbit.'

'But then, he is no ordinary Hobbit,' Ardhoniel said, smiling at the memory of her old friend.

'Indeed. I'm certain his party will be something to remember for many years to come.'

A silence had fallen over them, and she knew what the Maia was proposing even without him saying it. And as much as she longed to see her old friend again, she found the corners of her mouth turning downward as she looked out into the quiet forest. 'I am afraid you shall have to tell me all about it on our next meeting, Mithrandir. Orc attacks at the northern border have become more frequent over the last few months, and Healer Saeleth needs my assistance in the Houses of Healing. But if you go, would you mind bringing him a present in my stead?'

And so it had been. Several days later – and only several days after his arrival in Lothlórien – Gandalf the Grey had departed the Golden Wood, and it would be many years until their next meeting. In the meanwhile, Ardhoniel was left to return to the safe routine of her everyday life. While not a lie, the increasing number of Orc attacks was only a part of the reason why she had turned down the offer of visiting her old friend – and by no means the largest part. The truth was that she was not yet ready to leave Lothlórien. The forest was like a safe bubble, shielding her from the outside world, allowing her to detach herself from the life that she had lived – and whatever life she could still live. Going to the Shire meant reconnecting to that life, and she wasn't ready for that yet.

* * *

Ready or not, it would seem that fate had different plans for Ardhoniel, for not many years later – or at least not from the perspective of an Elf – she would have to leave the safety of the forest after all. The day had started off like many others: Ardhoniel, accompanied by Bruihel, had set off into the forest in the early morning in search of herbs. Around midday, they stopped in a small clearing near a creak for a small meal and, to appease Bruihel, some sparring. Despite the younger Elleth's efforts to keep her sword fighting skills sharp – or as sharp as they had ever been – the feeling of the sword in Ardhoniel's hand had never quite regained the same familiarity as it had before. Unlike her sword however, the bow gifted to her by her father had been left in the safety of her room and had, in fact, never been used again since _that_ day.

She was just being forced to surrender to a smirking Bruihel when a horse came crashing into the clearing, the dark-haired Elleth on its back looking tense and out of breath. 'My lady Ardhoniel,' Rínel addressed Ardhoniel first, then turned to Bruihel. 'I've come from the southern border. There is a Man asking for you.'

'Éadig?'

The dark-haired Elleth shook her head. 'He did mention that name, however. He called himself Éaden – and he requested you be sent for with all haste.'

Bruihel's brows drew in worry and she shared a look with Ardhoniel, who nodded. 'Lead on.'

The two friends quickly gathered their things and mounted the horses, then made for the southern border of the forest with urgency. When they arrived, they were greeted by four wardens, and a Man. Even from afar, Ardhoniel noticed the great resemblance to the boy that they had once rescued from the remains of his home town, and any doubts that she may have had were erased. A feeling of dread overcame her as they approached, knowing his presence could only mean one thing.

Bruihel immediately rushed to the Man and they shared a short hug before he pulled back, a solemn look on his face. 'I've come for my father. Long has his health been deteriorating, but I fear he has not long left. When I left, his night-fever had not broken for several days and he had started coughing up blood.' He paused, the pain clearly written on his face, 'I know he would want you to be there when…'

'Go,' Ardhoniel said, causing the young Man to take notice of her for the first time since their arrival, 'You have no time to lose; I will inform the Lady Galadriel.' As she turned to her horse, a hand clasped her arm, forcing her to face her best friend.

'Come with me.'

'I can't, Bruihel…'

'I cannot do this alone. _Please_ , _mellon-nin_ ,' she begged, blue eyes pleading with a desperation that was all too familiar.

For a moment, she considered saying no. Going with them would mean that she could hide no longer, it would mean having to face the world – and her own past. She wasn't ready for that, but as she met her best friend's eyes and saw the dispair in them, she knew it didn't matter whether she was ready or not. Her friends had been there in her time of need. Now it was time for her to return the favour. 'Of course.'

* * *

Life on the road was not how she remembered it. Despite not running into any Orc bands, she felt more unsafe than she ever remembered herself feeling on her travels – and Ardhoniel was unsure whether that change had occurred in the world or herself. Whatever the case was, she was happy when after two weeks of travel they finally arrived in Walstow – although she would soon learn this happiness to be short-lived.

Éadig and his family lived in a small wooden home at the edge of village. There was a single cow in the pasture behind the house, as well as two goats, and in the garden out front grew several potato plants, a few carrot plants, and some herbs. They had lived a modest life, with only just enough to provide for the extended family, Éaden had explained along the way. It had always been enough – until now.

When the trio passed into the small dwelling, for a moment they had feared being too late for the quiet that hung in the house was suffocating. All of the rooms were empty and dark, except for one bedroom at the end of the hall, which the Man rushed to. A fire burned in the hearth in the corner of the room, and three tired-looking females, two younger and an older one, were seated with their backs towards the warmth, a solemn mask placed over their faces as they watched a fourth figure lying in bed, covered by several blankets.

Watching this latter figure, Ardhoniel was reminded of the herbs that were still stashed away in the bags on her horse, and the irony that she, one who was training to bring health and life, was now here to watch this Man's death. However, even had she already finished her training, had she been a more experienced Healer, she knew there would have been nothing she could have done for him at this point – except perhaps ease his passing.

A rattled breathing filled the room, once in a while interrupted by heavy coughs that wracked the wasted body of the Man in bed. He was old now, his skin wrinkled and grey and slick with sweat and his green eyes dull and sunken – and it was difficult for Ardhoniel to reconcile the image with the scared young boy that she had once carried out of his parental house. The Man did not respond to their entrance, and Éaden leaned over one of the ladies, speaking to her in soft tones. 'Any change at all?'

'He has been delirious for the past few days; he doesn't respond or even recognizes us when we speak to him,' the woman replied in a factual voice, tiredly pushing a lock of blonde hair away from her face, 'You may have come back just in time.'

'I've asked Wilfled to take the children to the market,' the other young female said, her green eyes flashing over to the figure of what must have been her father, 'They should not be present when… when it happens.'

The older woman leaned back in her seat just then, putting the rag – once white but now coloured crimson – that she had used to wipe at Éadig's mouth back in her lap. Just then, she turned around, taking notice of the two Elves that stood in her doorway – and as she did, relief washed over her face. 'Bruihel, you have come.'

'Of course, Sefa,' the Elleth responded in a soft voice, her Westron tinged only ever so slightly with an accent. More important than the exchange however, was that the Man in the bed had stirred for the first time since their arrival – seemingly having been triggered by the familiar voice of his old friend.

Dull and unfocused green eyes searched the room until at last they settled on the familiar form of the blonde Elf. A small smile overcame his tired face and, raising one thin hand, he beckoned her over. 'I am glad you are here,' Éadig admitted, so soft that even Ardhoniel had to strain her ears to catch it. Like his body, his voice had grown thin and weak, wasted away from sickness and old age. 'Suddenly the night does not seem so dark anymore. Now that you are here, I am no longer afraid to face the unknown.' The old Man sighed in contentment, allowing his tired eyes to shut.

For one moment, the awful rattling ceased and a real smile overcame his face. 'How fortunate I am, to face my final hour surrounded by my family and friends.'

He fell silent then, and when Bruihel turned back to face the room's other occupants, her blue eyes were shining with tears unshed. 'He passed.'

A terrible, seemingly endless pause followed, and then Sefa broke into loud sobbing. As both Bruihel and one of the younger Women, each battling their own grief, moved in to comfort her, Éaden and the other daughter held onto each other as they too mourned their late father. As a mere bystander, Ardhoniel did not share the overwhelming grief that had wrecked the family – but she could sympathize with it. And although the fleetingness of life may have been a requisite for Man's lust for life, for once she found she did not envy them for it. Bowing her head, she stepped out of the room respectfully, leaving the family to their mourning.

* * *

'I still can't believe he is truly gone,' Bruihel spoke at last, breaking the silence that had stretched on for what had seemed like an eternity. After the burial, she and Ardhoniel had stayed behind to mourn the Man following their own customs. Hours must have passed ever since, and both Ellith had been lost in their own thoughts – both centering on the fleetingness of mortal life. 'It seems only yesterday that we saved him from that town. And yet, it seems much longer for so much happened in the past seventy years.'

'The lives of Men are paced very differently than that of the Eldar.'

'I wish I'd had more time more time with him.'

A vision of a dark-haired Dwarf passed before her mind's eye, and suddenly Ardhoniel found her throat constrict. Of all things, it was the one thing she had wished for most in the aftermath of her journey with the Dwarves of Erebor. More time. More time to get to know them without the weight of the Quest on their shoulders. More time to get to know Thorin, not the exiled King or the Company leader. More time to see what may have developed between them given time. But now she would never know.

When she responded, her voice was barely above a whisper, and the words were lost to the winds. 'We all do.'

'I think I will stay here for a little while longer; I am not yet ready to go back to Lothlórien.' Turning to her, the younger Elleth offered her a watery smile. 'I am sorry, _mellon-nin_ , I know you are eager to return.'

Despite her dislike for having to make the return journey by herself, Ardhoniel could not fault her friend for her choice – she, of all people, understood the need for a change of scenery to deal with one's grief.

And so it was that several days later, Ardhoniel of Imladris was once more on the road, her first journey alone in a long while. And whether by chance or fate, this journey would soon prove to change her life irrevocably – and that of at least one other.

~ Echuir = Stirring  
~ Mellon-nin = My friend  
~ Ellith = Plural of Elleth


	7. Rebirth - Sequel up!

**Author's Note: Hello all! Just a note to everyone who read _Bâhukhazâd_ and then _The Lost Years_ that the first chapter of the sequel, _Rebirth_ , is now also finally online! I am very exited to start this new journey and I hope many of you will also be returning for the new adventures of Ardhoniel. As with _Bâhukhazâd_ , the sequel will be a mix between the books, the movies, and of course some OCness. **

_"The One Ring has been found, the Fellowship has departed for Mount Doom – and Ardhoniel of Imladris can hide no longer. Forced to face her troubles and herself, she has to decide once and for all. To hold on to the past or to let go. To be brave. To live."_


End file.
